


marionette

by ixie_nay



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Forced Masturbation, Jack Is a Steamrolling Douchebag, M/M, Manipulation, Possession, body control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixie_nay/pseuds/ixie_nay
Summary: Rhys is a little too high-strung for Jack's taste.(Or, the requisite "Jack possesses Rhys's limbs and makes him jerk off" fic.)





	marionette

**Author's Note:**

> why do i always gravitate towards the most fucked-up ships, i stg
> 
> **content note:** this is one of those entirely fictional dubcon scenarios where rhys is saying no but he actually wants it. please be safe!

Rhys is bone-tired.  Marrow-tired. His  _ actual blood cells _ are collapsing, one by one, and he’s going to die of anemia or some kind of horrible Pandoran flesh-eating plague and no one will ever find his body or even care.

Well.  Vaughn might care.  Vaughn would actually want to give him a decent burial.  Vaughn’s such a good friend.

“Vaughn, you’re such a good friend,” Rhys says.

“Uh, thanks?” says Vaughn, from across the table.

Rhys stares up at the caravan’s ceiling, trying to ignore the way the tires bounce against the rough road.  It’s hard — his head keeps knocking against the bench he’s lying on, rattling his brains around. He guesses he can’t ask for better shocks, considering it’s kind of a miracle the thing even  _ runs _ .  Held together with spit, duct tape, and, like, siren magic maybe.

Sleep is a distant memory.  Rhys never thought he’d miss his shitty too-thin mattress up on Helios.  He imagines falling face-first into it, curling around his old pillow like a cat, purring, and passing out fully clothed in a climate-controlled bedroom with actual doors.

It doesn’t help.

Rhys sighs.  He’s uncomfortable here on the bench, he’s uncomfortable in the driver’s seat, he’s uncomfortable standing up…he could at least go to the roof, he’d be uncomfortable there too but there’s a nice breeze and a little more privacy up there.

“Heading up?” says Vaughn, as Rhys slings his legs off the bench.

“Yeah,” Rhys says.  “Need some air. Can’t sleep.”

Vaughn nods, turns back to fiddling with his Atlas watch.  “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yeah.”

The roof is quiet, except for the rush of air and the rumble and clatter of the caravan — Loader Bot and Gortys are...sleeping, or whatever it is robots do, LB’s blocky limbs wrapped protective around Gortys’s sphere.  Like they’re cuddling.

Rhys rubs his eyes.   _ He _ could sure use some cuddles right now.

That’s...not the most embarrassing thing he’s ever thought, but it’s definitely up there.  Christ he needs sleep. At least Jack isn’t around right now to make fun of him.

His vest, stripped off and folded under his head, makes a decent pillow, and he lies on his back, staring blankly up at the sky.  It was never this clear on Elysia; the megacity was always so bright, so lit up that the planet might as well have been tidally locked.  It wasn’t until he got to Helios that Rhys saw the stars at all.

Which means his circadian rhythm is perma-fucked, but that’s hardly rare in Hyperion.

Ragged, leafless trees fly past the edges of his vision.  The rock and bob of the caravan is weirdly lulling, up here, sets his mind wandering more than it usually does.  To the many ways he might end up dead, mostly.

Vallory and her thugs could catch up with them and kill them.  Psychos could eat them. The caravan might give out and they’d starve to death.  Or it could go off a cliff. Or just explode. Rhys would prefer that, at least it’d be quick.

Electric blue flickers in Rhys’s periphery.  “Eeesh, kid, morbid much?”

“Uu _ uugh _ .”  Rhys slings an arm over his eyes.  Jack could at least  _ pretend _ he’s not seeing Rhys’s thoughts, it would be the kindest thing for him at this point.  “I’m trying to sleep.”

“And you’re doing a  _ great job _ at it, too,” says Jack, mockery slick around his words.  “Jesus, you’re so tense I’m surprised you haven’t bent anything out of shape.”

“Please, shut up,” says Rhys.

His cybernetic arm jolts, like a live wire’s touched it, and suddenly it’s not listening to him anymore — it’s yanking his tie out of his waistband, and Rhys squawks in alarm.

“Jack, what the  _ hell are you doing _ ,” he hisses through his teeth, glancing back to make sure the robots are still sleeping.

Jack looks thoughtful, sort of, sitting on nothing while his right hand moves in unison with Rhys’s.  “What, you don’t want my help?” he says. Something in his voice is — different. Lower. A shiver skates up Rhys’s back.

“I — ”  Jack pantomimes undoing his pants button, and Rhys grabs his own wrist in a vain attempt to stop it, face burning.  “This is help?!”

Jack’s smile is slim, wolfish.  “Lighten up, sweet cheeks,” he says.  He leans back in his invisible chair, spreads his legs, runs a thumb down over the bulge of his — of  _ Rhys’s _ — cock.  “Gotta work out some of that nervous energy, yeah?”

Squirming like an idiot virgin isn’t on the agenda, but Rhys’s body does it anyway, helpless to Jack’s puppeteering.  His dick, neglected for way too long, springs to life under a touch that isn’t quite his own. And Jack is  _ watching him _ , with those eyes, unblinking, predatory.

“Jack, stop,” says Rhys, but it comes out all — breathy.  The opposite of discouraging.

“Really?  Sure about that?” says Jack.

The words are liquid, running hot down Rhys’s scalp.  His traitorous fucking hand cups, rubs, squeezes his traitorous fucking dick, hard and throbbing just from Handsome Jack’s heavy gaze, like the way Rhys used to jerk himself to the poster above his bed, panting in the dark and imagining the voice he heard on ECHOcasts saying things like — 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” low like the purr of a big cat, and Rhys maybe hates himself a little, “c’mon, let’s have some fun, huh?”

Rhys exhales.  “This is — your idea of fun?”

Jack slips their hand into Rhys’s boxers, cool metal meeting hot skin.  “To be honest?” he says. “Nah.  _ My _ idea of fun would be bending those stems up over your head and fucking you so hard you come on your own face.”

Rhys inhales sharply, almost chokes on his own spit, bites down hard on his lip to keep from moaning.

“But this?”  Jack gestures, vaguely; Rhys feels his flesh hand do the same.  “Pretty close.” 

He grins, knifelike, and begins to stroke, as much as he can in the tight space.  Rhys  _ writhes _ , tension and pent-up sexual frustration mixing up in his gut like the chemicals in a bomb, and he should make Jack stop, but he doesn’t know if he  _ could _ and somehow that makes his dick leap in his metal fist, the friction just this side of painful.  

“S-stop, God,” and it’s all air, no force behind it.  It’s perfunctory. Should, should,  _ should _ .

Jack laughs.  Rhys burns with it.  “Yeah, I’m thinking you don’t want that.”

His cock throbs; Jack pulls it free of his pants into the cool air and — and plays with it, Hyperion-branded fingertips running up and down the veins, circling the head, and Rhys wants  _ more _ but he  _ shouldn’t _ .

The fingers that are still mostly his clench, hard, as he tries to fight off his own need.  “Seriously, Jack, I,” he tries, but he can’t look away from their hand, and his cock is just  _ leaking _ , he can’t help wanting this, wanting what Jack is clearly ready to give.

“That’s it,” says Jack, “just like that.  Just relax and let me take care of everything.”

What strings are attached to this?  Rhys shudders; he’s exhausted, so tired of all this, Jack’s voice melting into him.

“Relax,” Jack purrs, and after one last token struggle for the sake of his pride, Rhys just…gives.

It’s easier, then.  Easier to feel the pleasure curling deep in his hips, his hand moving at Jack’s volition, thumb swiping across the slit and smearing precum down the shaft.  Everything falls away but arousal and the feeling of his own body acting without him.

“Theeere you go, that’s better,” says Jack, hungrily.  “Pretty like that, aren’t you, all desperate and needy.  Christ, if I had a — no no no, when I  _ get _ a body, because once we’re back on Helios you’re going to get me a body, right, princess?”

Rhys feels himself nod, and he’s not sure who’s doing it.

“That’s right, you are,” says Jack, and the praise, condescending as it is, goes straight to Rhys’s cock.  “My special boy, my golden ticket. You’re gonna find someone to make me my own body, and when I get it, the first thing I’m gonna do is shove my dick right down your sweet little throat.”

Rhys whines.  It’s not dignified.  He really, really doesn’t care.  Jack is teasing, too slow, and Rhys wants to jerk his hips up into his hand but he can’t make it happen, Jack isn’t letting him, it’s like being tied up but  _ better _ .

“Oh, you like that?”  Jack laughs. Rhys isn’t really surprised he doesn’t shut up, and for once he actually wants Jack to keep talking.  “You wanna be my personal cocksleeve? Use you anytime I want, send you back to work wet? We could do that. You just gotta get me back on top, dollface.”

And Christ, Rhys will do it, he doesn’t know how, but he’ll do it, do anything as long as — 

“Don’t stop,” he groans, “ _ please, _ ” and Jack  _ growls _ .

“So gorgeous when you beg.”  His voice sounds like he’s as affected as Rhys is, and maybe he is, hard to tell, Rhys can’t manage to hold on to a thought long enough to puzzle it out.  “Love to have those long legs around my waist. I’m gonna keep you, Rhysie. As a  _ pet _ .  Put a goddamn collar on you, bend you over my desk whenever I feel like it.”

Jack’s stroking faster, now, and Rhys sobs, wound so tight he could snap in two.  He can see himself, naked and kneeling on a pillow at the foot of Jack’s bed, leashed to the footboard, hands tied behind him, trying to rock back on a plug stuffed inside him and knowing it’s not enough, won’t  _ be _ enough until Jack returns and sinks into him, filling him up, oh God, he wants, he  _ wants _ .

“ _ Christ, _ ” Jack snarls, “yeah, like that, just like that, you wanna come, pretty boy?  Bet you do. Bet you’d give anything for me to make you come. That’s what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?  You want me, and knowing I want you just makes that pretty little head  _ spin _ .”

“You,” Rhys manages, breathless, and can’t finish the thought.

“Course I do,” says Jack, “who wouldn’t?  Legs for days, big doe eyes, that  _ mouth _ , the things I’d do to that mouth…”

Jack’s right, his head is spinning, whirling with so many things — Jack wants him,  _ Handsome Jack _ wants  _ him _ , lust and hero worship colliding in his body and sending off sparks that inflame every nerve.  All he can think is please, please,  _ please _ , and hope that Jack can hear.  He’s so close. So close. His eyes roll up, hand flying over his dick.

“Next time I’m making you say it out loud,” Jack says, and Rhys barely has time to process what that means, “but I really wanna see what you look like when you come, so fucking  _ do it _ .” 

It’s a command Rhys can’t help but obey — he arches with a cry, whiting out with the intensity of it, coming so fucking hard he might actually be dying.  It goes on forever, his sense of time is all whacked. Jack strokes him through it, pumping him dry, wringing him out until he barely feels human anymore.  A puppet with his strings cut.

Jack holds him to consciousness by a thread; how, Rhys isn’t sure, but that doesn’t matter, really.  Nothing matters. Rhys is limp and sated, drifting on the soft edge of sleep.

“Feel better, pumpkin?” Jack says.

“Uh huh,” Rhys sighs.  Somehow his dick makes it back into his pants.  He’s not aware of his limbs moving, but it happens.

“Theeere ya go.  Nice and easy.” Jack’s voice takes on a weirdly soothing quality.  Rhys floats on it, eyelids fluttering. “Attaboy. You help me, I reward you.  You do what I ask, you can have this. Got it?”

“Mmmhm.”  Rhys’s head lolls.  He can sleep now. He knows he will, as soon as Jack lets go of him.

“Straight to the top, Rhysie.”

Rhys is smiling as he passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> elysia isn't a canon planet, i made it up because i like the idea of rhys growing up in a hyperion megacity
> 
> catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ixie_nay) rting a lot of porn


End file.
